


like tea and knitwear

by SongOfWizardry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Jumpers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-11-15 04:04:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18066272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongOfWizardry/pseuds/SongOfWizardry
Summary: There are probably easier and faster ways of showing one's affection than learning how to knit so one can make the object of said affections a jumper. Fortunately, Sirius has never been fond of picking the easy route.





	like tea and knitwear

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: brief mentions/implications of parental abuse, but nothing explicit.
> 
> Shoutout to the amazing mods of the Remus Lupin fest! It's been wonderful. The prompt I was given was: _Sirius decides to knit Remus a cardigan. The only problem is that Sirius cannot knit._

“I’ve got to do _something_ ,” Sirius says, one night late in August.

James sighs, looks up from his tea. “What about, Pads?”

(James has long stopped questioning Sirius’ non-sequiturs, has just accepted them as part of his disaster sibling, has maybe started to find them a bit endearing, but he does not tell Sirius this.)

“Remus,” Sirius says, as though this explains everything.

James resists the urge to sigh again, considers Sirius for a moment – he’s looking slightly blurry, probably because the steam from the tea is fogging up James’ glasses – and only when Sirius flushes and looks away, does he say, “Do elaborate.”

“You know, it’s a whole… thing.” Sirius waves one hand around, seemingly encompassing himself, the two mugs of tea on the table, and the Potters’ kitchen in one gesture. “All this… this last year, it’s been a thing.”

Miraculously, James understands—it _has_ been a whole thing of a year, a long and tiring and desperate thing, a Merlin’s-balls-how-are-we-all-still-here sort of thing. “Hmm,” James says, and takes a slow sip of his chai. “What do you want to do?” He’s hoping Sirius will say something _sensible_ , something like suggesting a conversation, or perhaps admitting that his constant moon-eyes at Moony are the sign of rather obvious emotions, but instead, what Sirius says is:

“I’m going to make him a present.”

James blinks, weighs up the sentence, and thinks, _Well, it could be worse_. Speaking as an expert on the romantic arts and whatnot—presents seem to be an excellent way to endear yourself to the love of your life, and all the Muggle films agree with him; chocolates and roses and all that. Then the word _make_ hits him, and he says, “I’m sorry, you’re doing what?”

Sirius grins, and even in the half-light of the kitchen at midnight, it shines. Shit, James realises, he looks so bloody _pleased_ with himself. “I’m gonna make Moony a present,” he repeats. “By which, I mean a jumper.”

James wonders whether he’s missed something vital in this conversation, or perhaps if Sirius has managed to take up a secret hobby James hasn’t noticed over the summer, which seems a bit absurd. “ _How_ , exactly?”

“By _knitting_ , Prongs.” Sirius’ tone suggests this should be obvious.

“Yes, yes, sure, but you _can’t_ knit, Pads.”

“Nope!” Sirius sounds far too cheerful about this for it to end in any way well, and James is wondering whether he should be worrying when he adds, “But you know someone who can teach me.”

* * *

To say that Lily Evans is surprised to be in this situation would be an understatement. But somehow, for some unidentifiable reason, Potter is starting to grow on her, and she can’t quite justify dismissing him entirely anymore, which is why she makes her way over to the sofa Black is falling asleep on one Tuesday evening and drops a bag of yarn on his lap.

He starts, blinks, looks up at her and grins. “Evans! You agreed.”

Lily thinks that much is obvious, so she doesn’t bother responding, and instead pushes Black’s legs off the sofa so she can join him. “Why, exactly, have you decided to take up knitting?”

Sirius drops the bag of yarn onto the floor, pulls his feet up underneath himself, sits up straighter, and shrugs. “I… wanted to make Remus a jumper?”

Lily, valiantly, resists urge to knock the lovesick idiot off the sofa. While it is an excellent idea – there are few things Remus Lupin loves more than his jumpers – watching the two of them pine over each other from a distance, however adorable, is incredibly frustrating. Instead, she says, “And you’re willing to learn to knit for this idea?”

Sirius shrugs once more. “How hard can it be?”

Deciding it’s wiser not to answer that question, Lily reaches for the bag, and from it pulls out a worn, pale pink paperback, its edges curling, with the title _Handicrafts_ in curlicue lettering on the front, and passes it to Sirius. “That might help. It’s what I used to learn.”

 

Sirius practices in the Common Room on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, when Remus has astronomy. Lily doesn’t usually _mean_ to watch him, sitting cross-legged on the sofa that has unofficially been the Marauders’ for years now, but she ends up doing so anyway, distracted from whatever work she’s trying to do or book she’s trying to read by the sight of Sirius counting stitches, hair falling over his face. Once in a while, he’ll look up and catch her eye and grin broadly, and Lily will shake her head and try not to think of Sirius Black as adorable.

* * *

Remus is starting to get a little concerned about Sirius.

Not that that, in itself, is anything unusual—Remus is often concerned, about most things, and honestly, he’d say his concern for Sirius is entirely justified after the… rather dramatic Incidents last year, thank you very much.

But this is different.

This isn’t Sirius vaguely hysterical and laughing every time Remus asks him how he’s doing, this isn’t Sirius being impulsive and rash and doing stupid things that take months to forgive, this is a _different_ Sirius. This is Sirius being strangely vague about what he’s doing every evening, disappearing off from the Common Room when Remus is around, drawing the curtains round his bed stupidly early.

The only logical conclusion, Remus decides, is that Sirius is seeing someone.

Which is _fine_ , Remus tells himself, sitting (alone) on the Common Room sofa. That’s not what he’s worried about, or annoyed about, or whatever. He has absolutely no feelings, in the abstract, about Sirius running off to make out with someone in dark corners. He’s annoyed that Sirius isn’t _telling_ him.

“‘Lo, Moony,” someone says, breaking Remus out of his thoughts. He looks up to see James sitting down on the other end of the sofa.

Remus considers the matter for about ten seconds before thinking, _Well, fuck it_. It can hardly make things more confusing. “Prongs,” he says, “D’you think Padfoot’s got a boyfriend?”

James blinks, slowly, multiple times at Remus. After a few moments of increasingly-concerning silence, he finally says, “What, Moony, in Merlin’s name, would make you think _that_?”

Remus frowns. There’s certainly no need to be _that_ incredulous. “I don’t know, he keeps running off to fuck knows where, and he won’t tell me where he _is_ any bloody evening, and I just–” He flounders for a moment, then settles, rather pathetically, for, “I just don’t see him anymore very much, okay?”

James is still staring at Remus, something completely unreadable on his face, and shakes his head slowly. “Sirius,” he says, “Most definitely does _not_ have a boyfriend, Moony.” Still shaking his head, he gets up, and Remus watches as he heads in the direction of Lily.

Remus watches as James sits down at Lily’s table and starts talking to her, too low for him to hear, and considers how James hasn’t ruled out to possibility of Sirius seeing _anyone_ at all, he’s only said Sirius does not, specifically, have a boyfriend, and continues thinking.

* * *

It’s one a.m. on a Saturday, and James is halfway asleep, when someone shakes him awake.

James rolls over, blinks at Sirius’ blurry face, and reaches for his glasses automatically. It’s only once he puts them on that he sees that Sirius is grinning, and the hard knot of worry that had already started in his chest loosens. “What the fuck, Pads?” he whispers.

Sirius runs a hand through his too-long, dishevelled hair. James notices he’s still fully dressed. “It’s done.”

It takes James a moment to realise he means the jumper. “Oh, thank _Merlin_.”

(Since their conversation a few weeks ago, James hasn’t been able to stop noticing the way Remus’ brow furrows whenever Sirius is missing from the Common Room, the way he’s quieter and fidgets more, the stressed politeness creeping back into the way he speaks to Sirius. It’s been all he can do _not_ to shove the two into an empty classroom and force them to talk or make out, whichever is easier.)

Sirius, who’s spent the entire day click-clacking needles together or whatever knitting actually involves, is slightly bouncing. “Come on, come on, I’ll show you,” he says, and James sighs, but lets Sirius take his hand and drag him out of his own bed and onto Sirius’.

The jumper looks… okay.

James is surprised by that, because deep down, he’s been expecting a bit of a disaster. A labour-of-love disaster, a disaster that was still sweet, but not something anyone (except maybe Remus) would actually _want_ to wear. But the jumper actually looks all right—it’s deep green, and looks about the right size for Remus’ lankiness, and has the sort of high neck that Remus is fond of tucking his chin into, and it’s soft under James’ fingers.

Sirius is still bouncing slightly. “Well? What’d you think?”

James looks from the jumper, to Sirius, and thinks of Remus fast asleep a couple feet away, and not for the first time, wonders how he’s gotten himself saddled with such _idiots_. “I think,” he says, “He’ll love it.”

Sirius grins. “Brilliant.”

* * *

When Remus gets out of bed that morning, the first thing he notices is that there’s something under his left foot.

Not entirely awake, he sits back down on his bed and reaches down to pick up whatever’s ended up on the floor. He’s expecting a discarded shirt, or an unfortunate essay, but instead it’s a squishy package, wrapped in brown paper. There’s one word on the paper, in Sirius’ aristocratic cursive: _Moony_.

 _It’s not even my birthday_ , Remus thinks, but rips the paper open anyway, and something green and fluffy falls onto his lap. He picks it up, and it’s soft and knitted and oh, it’s a jumper. Remus holds it in front of him, fondness battling with surprise battling with confusion. Why, exactly, has Sirius gotten him a jumper? Granted, it’s winter, and there’s very little Remus likes more than jumpers, but…

And that’s when Remus notices that the left arm of the jumper droops a little more than the right, that the edges of the sleeves aren’t perfectly straight, and slowly, the pieces start to fall together.

The way Lily has taken to referring to Sirius by his first name. Sirius’ strange disappearances. The confusing clacking coming from behind his closed bed curtains some evenings. It wasn’t a boyfriend—it was a fucking _jumper_.

The pieces make sense, but Remus isn’t sure what to make of the picture he’s seeing. _Why_ would Sirius just knit him a jumper?

There’s something tight and emotional in Remus’ chest that he doesn’t want to poke at too much, so instead he folds up the jumper, holds it close to his chest with one hand, and makes his way across the room to Sirius’ bed.

Sirius is still fast asleep, curled up on one side around his pillow, hair half-escaping from a messy knot. Remus reaches out and pokes him, gently, and Sirius starts awake immediately. “Pads,” he says.

Sirius is halfway to sitting up before his eyes land on Remus, and he grins. “Oh, hey, Moony.”

Remus holds out the jumper. “Pads, did you make this?”

Sirius nods, moving over on the bed. “Yep. D’you like it?”

Remus ignores the question, because it should be obvious. “When did you learn to knit?”

“Recently,” Sirius says, still grinning.

The pieces still aren’t making sense to Remus, but he drops onto the bed next to Sirius, still holding onto the jumper. “Just to be clear,” he says, slowly, “This is what you’ve been up to? Not, I don’t know, dating some mystery someone?”

Sirius frowns. “Where the hell’d you get that idea, Moony?”

Remus shrugs and doesn’t answer, because it does sound a bit ridiculous now. “I dunno, just thought you might have some secret boyfriend or something.”

That gets a quiet laugh out of Sirius, who moves closer to Remus, dropping his head onto Remus’ shoulder. “No secret boyfriend, you knob,” he says, “Keeping a jumper secret was hard enough. You’re the better secret-keeper of us, y’know.”

 _You kept your bloody asshole parents a secret for long enough_ , Remus thinks, but he doesn’t say that, because this is neither the time nor the place. He gives it a moment, thinks about how Sirius like this – Sirius not a hundred percent awake – is closer and will flinch less and ends up next to Remus more times than not. “Sirius,” he says, slowly, “Why’d you make me a jumper?”

He feels Sirius shrug against him. “You like jumpers,” Sirius says, as if that should be all there is to it. Remus waits. After a few moments, Sirius shrugs again. “And, I don’t know, I felt like there needed to be… something. I wanted to do something.”

“What, for me?”

“Yeah.” Sirius laughs, softly. “We had one hell of a time of it last year, didn’t we? Felt like I should do something.”

The way Sirius summarises the shitshow that last year was makes Remus smile. “That’s one way of putting it,” he says. He considers, once more, the exact shade of the jumper that’s now lying on his lap, and the feel of Sirius’ chin digging into his shoulder and his knee pressing against Remus’ leg, and how long it must take to knit things, though it’s not something Remus knows a lot about. He places his hand, palm up, on Sirius’ knee, and hopes Sirius sees it as an invitation.

Sirius, almost immediately, slots his fingers – long and thin and brown against Remus’ pale skin – between Remus’, and Remus considers that for a moment, too.

They’ve held hands before, of course they have, but something about this feels weighted, warm with anticipation.

“Hey, Pads,” he says, softly.

“Hmm?”

Remus thinks, _This is why that fucking hat put you in Gryffindor_ , and says, “I’m about to do something that might be a colossally stupid idea. D’you think I should go through with it?”

Sirius squeezes his hand. “Always,” he says, and something in his voice makes Remus think he knows exactly what Remus means.

Remus turns his head, and Sirius sits up, and there’s a familiar half-smile on his face, and his hair is falling onto his face, and Remus cannot bring himself to care too much about _why_ this might be a colossally stupid idea.

When he kisses Sirius, it doesn’t feel like fireworks. It feels like warmth, and tea, and the fire in the Common Room on a cold evening, and Sirius squeezes his hand tighter and his free hand comes up to Remus’ cheek, and Remus thinks, _Fuck, I’ve been missing out._

“Moony,” Sirius says, quiet, against his lips.

“Hmm?” Remus pulls away, and Sirius is grinning. His hand doesn’t leave Remus’ cheek.

“So, you like the jumper then?”

Remus laughs, shakes his head. “I love it.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [like tea and knitwear (podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19373638) by [AllThisAndLoveTooWillRuinUs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllThisAndLoveTooWillRuinUs/pseuds/AllThisAndLoveTooWillRuinUs)




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